Anger Management
by dozefallsdownthestairs
Summary: "Let me explain something to you, Arthur. There are two kinds of angry people in this world: explosive and implosive. Explosive is the person you see screaming at the cashier for not taking their coupons. Implosive is the cashier who remains quiet day after day and finally shoots everyone in the store. You're the cashier." USUK AU
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! So... haha. This little idea came from Anger Management the movie from like 2003. It's only going to be loosely based on it, but credit to where credit is due.**

**WARNING: This is rated T, subject to change. Contains language, sex references, sarcasm, and crude humor. Read at your own risk :)**

**Pairing: UsUk, but I reserve the right to add more if I feel like it.**

Arthur rubbed at the base of his skull trying to capture and contain that one spot, the blossom of his hangover headache. Already, the fluorescent lighting of the little Mini Mart gas station he worked at was giving him those telltale black-spotted phantoms, blotting out the freezer section.

Last night had been a rough one. He vaguely recalled a bottle of whisky or two. Vaguely remembered sobbing on Francis' doorstep. And was trying really hard not to remember puking off the apartment balcony on some old lady's head...

He'd almost screwed it and called in sick.

But he had a duty to this little shit shack and if Arthur Kirkland wasn't at his post at 3:30 a.m... he conceived in his mind that the world would end. Or... at the very least their supply of liquor would be sufficiently pawned off to the teenagers of the New York suburbs.

He was the guardian of the alcohol, the one with the magic scepter to grant underage rats death or a hilariously spectacular time. Needless to say, he wielded his power about, snapping his buttons like the Queen of England. And honest to goodness, he'd never sold a minor alcohol in his life. He just liked to pretend he might, to get a good look at their faces. It could get awfully dull in here.

As it was, the place was full to bursting. 9:30 a.m. Truckers and the like with their shaggy beards and their coarse language. Arthur silently rang up their purchases with a gentleness that had gotten him called a faggot on one too many occasions. He blamed grad school and all the wonderful things it had done for him. Twenty-nine years old with a full time job at a gas station. He never thought he could amount to so much.

The next customer slapped their purchases on his meticulously clean counter and Arthur slid them over to ring them. Lube and condoms... at nine thirty in the morning... someone must be feeling frisky.

"Morning, Arthur."

Arthur's fingers froze inches away from accepting the cash, realizing that he recognized that hand. Slowly with bloodshot eyes, he looked up. "Francis." His tone cracked a bit. He hadn't had to use his voice for the last six hours and the hours before that... he had been screaming.

Francis smiled at him, gorgeous down to the last detail. Messy-haired and bloody glowing in a new shirt and leather jacket. Arthur blinked slowly, trying to bring his pounding thoughts together. His boyfriend never visited him at work.

"What are you doing here? What..." He looked down at what Francis was buying. "What are these for?" He didn't... couldn't possibly have the hope that they were for him. Nonetheless, he felt his pulse rise a bit through the headache and the heavy film of slow motion. Francis offered no explanation, except to motion him up and down. Him, in his wrinkled work polo with his happy, smiley, stupid name tag. _Hello my name is Arthur Kirkland. How can I help you today?_

Arthur's chest tightened, tapping his foot anxiously against the tile.

"Hey!" A loud voice crashed gratingly against his ears from the back of the line. "Would you hurry up? I got places I gotta be, asswipe!"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Arthur flinched, his hands shaking as he forced himself to ring Francis' purchases. The swirly plastic red of the countertops seemed to be filling his whole vision.

"That's right! Pick up the pace. You can move faster than that, stupid shit!"

Arthur couldn't help but glance up at this, something he tried to avoid as a general rule. His mouth was open a bit. Francis was smirking, looking amused. Some guy at the very back of the line, the one making all the racket, grabbed a Monster can from the very bottom of the pyramid display in pure defiance. Arthur's fingers tightened against the cash register when the whole forty or so cans shot across the greasy floor, a couple of them even making it out the door.

"That should get you moving right? Haha, fucker." The guy tossed his head back proudly, brownish blonde hair sparkling in the morning light, glasses and brilliant blue eyes.

Arthur swallowed forcibly, shoving Francis' purchases, the ones that weren't for him, into a bag. Waiting anxiously for the receipt, smiling weakly at everyone else's disgruntled countenances.

He became aware that Francis was talking as he signed the receipt. "This'll be good for you, Arthur. Maybe my absence will help you amount to something." He smiled pityingly. "Who knows? You might even grow a bigger pair."

Francis started to turn away and that would have been that. Arthur already knew which bottle would be the perfect solution for all of this and was thirsty as hell as a result. He was forcing down the blurred red on the outskirts of his vision, till he had it contained in the lone tapping of his scuffed tennis shoe on the tile. "Next," he said, but nobody heard him. He didn't even hear himself.

The blonde guy at the back started laughing... like dynamo-exploded, crapped pants, laughing. Arthur's throat constricted, his foot tapping faster.

"Sir?" he inquired politely, noticing that Francis was still holding up the rest of the line.

"He dumped your sorry ass, didn't he? Hahaha, ah gee, that's what you get for being as slow as you are! I'll bet it takes you like a million years to actually get your pants off for it, hahaha."

Arthur wondered how it was possible that the man could have heard them from back there. And decided to keep wondering about it, because it certainly kept him from wondering about other things. That would have been, could have been, and should have been all. But today was not Arthur's day.

Francis had the time to throw him one more sleazy-minded smile. "Maybe I should have him stick it to me? He seems to know how it works."

"Oh fuck off!" Arthur screamed it. Like last night when he'd screamed at Francis to forgive him... to just hold him. He couldn't stand it anymore! Francis couldn't get out the way as Arthur vaulted the counter grabbing onto his stupid French neck. They both toppled over. The only sound was that obnoxious laughter from before serving only to egg Arthur on more.

Green eyes filled with flames, he grabbed one of the Monster cans rolling around and began to hit Francis in the face repeatedly again and again and again. Laughing stupidly when he dented his nose, because Francis had always looked like a frog to him. He was just adding his special touch to it.

The store full of burly men didn't seem to know what to do... Their cashier had gone berserk and was mercilessly beating a particularly girly man against the floor. The blonde one in the back shoved his way forward, laughing. "This is for taking so damn long, buddy!" And he slung the Monster can, hitting the angry, spastic cashier straight between the eyes. Knocking him out solid.

"Sweet!" He laughed, picking another can up and popping it open. "Bullseye!"

0 0 0

"Arthur Kirkland, you have been charged with assault and hereby are sentenced to serve..."

Arthur closed his eyes. No. He couldn't go to jail. He couldn't. He was a young, semi-depressed man with a small drinking problem and he'd never ever gotten into trouble with the authorities in his life.

"...fifty days in anger management under Dr. Ludwig Beilschmidt." She slapped her gavel against the wood, the echoes of the finality of his predicament falling onto Arthur's shoulders.

He started laughing.

The whole court was giving him these bizarre concerned looks. But he laughed. Him? Arthur Kirkland in anger management? That was... he giggled... too damn much. He'd been taking shit since the beginning of time. Hell, he should be the one teaching the anger management class. He continued to laugh as the officers lead him out, handed him his papers, told him to report at seven a.m. to the address printed. This was too damn much.

**And finally, thanks so much for reading. I promise this is not the last we'll see of Alfred. If you've noticed... he has a few anger issues as well. ;p **

**Lastly, please review if you'd like to see this continued. I've got two other stories running and... yeah. Every one is much appreciated. thanks, doze. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Heya guys! So... uh wow. I was surprised that you guys liked this so much. **

**Super stupendous wonderful thanks to my reviewers: MuscialDragon, Ghosty Starr, Viva la Poncho, hexa, Sweetstar25, ForestFireSong, Canadian Hero, theSardonyx, onarwhal, aphrodite931, Something Simsy, DaneyDelaney, Emma-sempai, Marichinocherry, Mareybella, Cheary, and dick tales. **

**You guys totally rock. **

**And now... WARNING: Rated T contains language, sex references, booze and horrible stereotypes. Read at your own risk.**

**Oh and the first... eh, five hundred words, have many jokes and word plays woven within them if you find them. You rock ;p**

Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably as he stood outside the doors of some sort of glassed government counseling tower. He pulled a bit at the choker-chain tie and the cuffs of his nice Armani suit, forcing himself to do those breathing exercises he'd heard worked so well for these types of situations.

Unfortunately, he was already a bit... overstressed coming off of yesterday's trial. His father was relentless. A party for Francis. An apology for Francis. A kiss-ass ceremony for Francis and the overly snobby Bonnefoy family.

But nope. No more Arthur for Francis.

Something about the embarrassment of the family being grafted into the painful apology of the idiotic veracity in the Kirkland Heritage... Arthur figured he'd been too drunk to understand at this point.

But if they were going to drag him to a fancy kiss-Francis'-ass shindig, he might as well enjoy the fruity drinks.

Arthur wasn't even sure how his father had found out about the whole incident. His face was in some of those gossip tabloids at the pharmacy. Though, he'd never suspect his stodgy, thorough Englishman father to ever...

... that would explain the 'closet porn' his mother was always hinting about over breakfast tea.

Personally, Arthur tried not to be bothered. He assured himself that Francis' family's "tastes" were disgusting and he could never hope to match them with his own drink and be merry, complain, and live for the dollar lifestyle. Just because he was a disgrace to the long line of suit-wearing Kirkland businessmen didn't mean he was a disgrace to the spirit of the free thinker. He was the valiant leader of the new age! Love be damned.

The man of today was supposed to be alone. The hero of legend was meant to be alone... Strong (drunk maybe) but alone. Like the one who never wanted the girl or boy or whatever. He was alone. The solo act. Strong (drunk definitely) and... all alone.

... At this point, he was either up past Francis' bedtime (which was late if you had any idea how the frog liked to spend his nights) or had had one croissant too many.

Who was he kidding? He was a disgrace.

Besides, it wasn't really a big eyebrow-raiser for him that Francis was gone. Arthur Kirkland was hardly ever surprised. If there was one lesson to be learned in life: Set your expectations low. Disappointment is never always the answer.

As a general rule, he tried not to be surprised and raise his eyebrows when he didn't have to... permanent scarring and a nickname of "Caterpillar" from primary school had done it to him. In fact... Francis aside and damned... seeing eye to eye with his _own _business CEO of a father was something even more hopeless than Arthur's love life. He was only five foot five after all.

On a normal day, he would have spent more time thinking about it. And then drinking about it. He truly believed himself a candid, if slightly doomsday-ish philosopher at heart. But the whole matter was giving him a headache. He was still in the ruffled Armani from last night's impromptu I'm-Sorry-For-My-Dickhead-Son-Arthur-We're-Disinheriting-Him-Francis apology party and he stood in front of the government glass hall of doom, waiting for the desire to move to return to him.

"Hey, I know you!"

Arthur jumped, shocked out of his thoughts, mouth open a bit. He stared.

"You know me?"

The man that had stopped by him waved him up and down impatiently, "You're the dude from the store that rings the stuff up? I was totally there when you beat the crap out of that French guy! Remember? And I was the one that euthanized you when you got too batshit crazy? Remember me?"

Arthur could only stutter, "E-euthanized?"

The man grinned, obviously American by the enormous size of his white teeth if Arthur had to go on nothing else, forgetting the fact that they were in New York. "Yeah, I shot you with a Monster. Haha, I'm Alfred. What are you..." He trailed, blue eyes neon bright, suddenly going huge. "Woah! They totally sent you here, didn't they? For AngMan, right?"

Arthur frowned, trying to process all of the information. "Ehh.. what?"

"You're here for anger management? I'm Alfred," Alfred repeated excitably. "Oh man, shit is about to go down. I'll show you around." Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Arthur by the hand and dragged him into the building, babbling relentlessly.

"I've been going here for two years, ya know? Some jackass old lady parked her car in my spot the first time so I rear-ended it until it ran into the apartment building, haha. Some guy was in the shower too when her bumper went through. Favorite view of all time, I'm telling you. And later I _accidentally _hit her cat in the head with my baseball bat... It's okay. Fluffy's still alive," Alfred assured a shell-shocked Arthur. "When he limps by, I throw birdseed at him. The Doc says animals are a calming influence. That was two years ago. I'm much better now." He promised adamantly as he dragged Arthur through the lobby.

"It's been one _whole_ week ago since I kicked the mail man in the balls." He beamed proudly.

And Arthur's throat constricted. Crazy people. He was dealing with crazy people.

He subtly tried to retract his hand from Alfred's, but the man went on to no end and with a much tighter grip. They arrived in a classroom that reminded Arthur sickeningly of secondary, and he could feel himself immediately start to panic.

Student desks were drawn up in a circle, some occupied and some not. Alfred started introducing him to everybody, but he'd well and wholly tuned him out, looking for the responsible adult in charge of all of these misfits. Arthur had a suspicion that there was a ninety-nine percent higher chance of murder being committed in this room. And just by being here he was risking his neck.

"Ugh, you fucking bastard, what have you done?"

Arthur jumped, realizing he was being addressed. A brown haired, scowling boy crossed his arms voice dripping in an Italian accent.

"Me?"

"Yes, you, bastard. Look what you've done. You sick, perverted bitch."

Arthur looked down in confusion.

"That's Italian," the boy pointed out irritably. "The suit. I can tell. Nearly two thousand dollars too. And it's wrinkled as hell. Do you have no respect for cultures other than your own, English bastard? I fucking hate rich English bastards like you who walk around acting like everything we make is rags. Well, guess what! We make Ferraris and pasta and... and tons of things that are worth more than your stupid face!"

Arthur's eyes widened and he shook his head comically as the other advanced on him. "Hey, it was a long night. I just didn't change. Excuse me... stop... get away from me!" Arthur's voice cracked a bit when his back hit the wall.

He looked around in disbelief to find the whole of the class watching the two of them. Doing absolutely nothing to stop the raging maniac with tomato breath. What was with this anyway? Arthur swallowed when he felt the teenager (and he was a teenager, 19 at an absolute push) press the knuckles of his fist against Arthur's jaw, threateningly.

Arthur could feel his heart start to pound a little faster. What the hell was this anyway? Safe place to share feelings, his ass. This was ridiculous!... He didn't even belong here! And now he's shown up to pay his dues after Francis' pathetic asshole treatment of him and the whole world's set on punching Arthur Kirkland. His loafer started to smack against the tile. He... he was so...

"Lovino!"

The boy jumped like a scared little kid, instantly five feet away from Arthur. A blonde man, their therapist Arthur assumed, stepped forward, smiling tightly.

"May I have a word, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur nodded, glad to go out in the hallway and be rid of the sudden tension.

The therapist, unwaveringly stiff and more than a little bit awkward, introduced himself as Dr. Ludwig... which Arthur couldn't help but find amusing for the sole reason that the doctor was wearing a bow tie. What could he say? He was a closet fan.

"Arthur..." Ludwig was eyeing him delicately or as delicately as he could.

"Yes?" Arthur mumbled brusquely, finding that his patience had abandoned him some time around meeting Alfred.

"I know this must be... ahh... difficult for you. I've looked through your file, and I understand how frustrated you must be."

Arthur opened his mouth to confirm his righteous indignation, but Ludwig kept going.

"Sexually."

"Uhh... sorry?" Arthur knew he had heard wrong.

"But you must understand that you can't provoke the others like that. They naturally already know how serious of a problem you have from the news and the public service announcement the other day. They're only afraid."

He gaped, "My god. _Public what?_"

Ludwig smiled bluntly, "I almost didn't take your case. The _New Yorker_ is predicting you the city's next sex offender."

Arthur stared. "Me?" He said blankly.

Ludwig frowned at him skeptically, "You came here because you wanted truth. Listen to the truth, Arthur. We can help you here. Your anger is obviously rooted deep within that innate desire to-"

Arthur interrupted hastily, face brilliant red, "Bloody h-hell! Doctor, there's been some kind of mistake. I haven't done anything. That man I hit was my boyfriend surely there's some kind of excuse for that!" Arthur said in exasperation.

Ludwig sighed, "That makes it worse. Non-consent _is _rape and rape _is _illegal, Arthur. But, I can work with that. I can work with that." He nodded vigorously to himself. Arthur's eyes bulged.

"Rape? You think I'm a bloody rapist? What kind of demented institute are you-"

Ludwig gave him a witheringly compassionate glare. "Arthur, I know you're upset, but I'll make sure to put you with someone very forgiving and a bit... stupid frankly. Anyone in their right mind wouldn't want to be with you."

Arthur didn't even know what to say to that, wondering what the hell kind of therapist would tell their patient that no one in their right mind wanted to be with them. "P-put someone with me?" He laughed weakly, because this was all becoming a bit too much, tapping his foot sharply against the tiles. "W-what is this? A dating forum?"

Ludwig frowned seriously. "Not everything is about sex, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur scowled and tried to defend himself, but Ludwig once again overrode him.

"We have buddies here, Arthur. Friendly buddies who help and support each other." Ludwig looked extremely out of place saying that, and Arthur vaguely wondered what had happened to him to land him in the position of government social worker. He'd probably signed up for the military, what with the way the American system worked anyway.

"Buddies?" He forced himself to ask.

"Anger Management buddies," Ludwig stated. "When we're not in session, buddies meet for support."

Arthur wrinkled his nose, "I don't think I-"

"Yes, I wasn't sure if you qualified either, but they assured me you would be safe paired up with a taller African American male, you know for intimidation factor. But since we don't have one, I'm pairing you with Alfred... because he's unintelligent." Ludwig tried to look apologetic for the insult, but obviously wasn't. He really wasn't cut out for this.

Arthur was too lost in his thoughts to realize Ludwig was walking away, before he was at the classroom door. "Wait! Not Alfred... Please... he..." Arthur fumbled for an excuse, but he still had a bit of a cherry daiquiri hangover from last night and said lamely, "I know him."

Ludwig smirked, "I know. He'll keep you in line."

Arthur glumly forced himself back into the classroom, more of a sullen spectator to the "bonding exercises" than anything. At the end, Alfred bounced up grinning.

"Heya, sex offender!"

"Heya, unintelligent," Arthur grumbled under his breath. And then let out a yelp when Alfred slammed him into the hallway wall, hard enough to bruise.

Alfred smiled, leaning sweetly forward to put their foreheads together, "What did you say?"

Oh god... Arthur watched as Ludwig dutifully crossed by them on the other side of the hallway, sipping from his coffee mug. If it wasn't for the fact that a doorknob had more expressions than him, Arthur could have sworn he was smirking.

**Please tell me in the reviews what you thought was funny. I like to hear everybodys' view and it's always so encouraging. Thanks, doze**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! So sorry about the break there. I usually try to update weekly, but *shrugs* ACT studying has gotten the better of me. Wish me luck on Feb. 8!**

**Super amazing fantabulous thanks to these people: SomethingSimsy, Lintunia, Marichinocherry, aphrodite931, Dextra2, Emma-sempai, Ghosty Starr, Sweetstar 25, Mareybella, Sora Resi, B. T. Emmett, theSardonyx, Musical Dragon, Sadiescooby11, Anonymous, sachienobaka, ForestFireSong, and The Hidden Card.**

**Your reviews are amazing. I just... love you guys and your twisted sense of humor ;}**

**WARNING: Rated T for sex references, curse words, implications etc.**

"Who's Mary Poppins?" Alfred asked through a mouthful, syrup dribbling its way down his chin.

"How do you not know who Mary Poppins is?" Arthur cleared his throat and pointedly wiped his own mouth with a napkin. "You know, supercalifraja... something...uh... whatever. You know?" He sighed when Alfred continued to stare at him as if he were another species. "Had you no childhood?"

"I watched Bob the Builder and those things with the living toolbox and that one Hispanic dude... Mary Poppy or whatever sounds like a girl's show." Alfred sopped up a fair amount of butter onto his waffles and tossed that into his mouth too. "So... you ever watched Power Rangers? I asked my mom for a blue action figure one when I was five."

Arthur just pinched the bridge of his nose and forced down a sip of the kill-your-tongue coffee. They were at IHOP on a Get-to-Know-You twice weekly buddy meet up. Rather unfortunately required by the state. Arthur had tried to convince Alfred to just fake sign the form with him and be done with it. But he'd gotten that crazy look in his eyes, so here they were.

"I've never heard of Power Rangers," he answered blandly, which was somewhat of a lie considering he'd watched them every Saturday and at three thirty after school.

"Man, you missed out!" Alfred leaned forward excitably, eyes glowing like a big old kid. "Everyone knew that the blue one and the pink one were gunna get together and do it off screen!"

"Sounds like a very wholesome children's show," Arthur muttered, leaning back to try and claim the waitress' attention. He needed to order something actually edible.

"Yeah... well... first fandom," Alfred grinned goofily, "So... what other things did you watch? Besides Poppys?"

"_Poppins_." He growled icily to Alfred, then to the waitress, "Could I get some service over here? I've been waiting for nearly ten minutes."

"I'll be right there, sir," she waved him off, too busy ogling at some lady's toddler.

"Great service since 1958, my ass," He turned back around fixing Alfred with an annoyed glare.

"Dude, cool it. She's coming," Alfred shook his head, "Luddy said this was where patience comes in. Don't let the circumstances over take your control. And..." He rolled out the word in his big, American mouth, making Arthur roll his eyes crabbily. "You never told me what you watched. Maybe I've heard of some of them."

"I highly doubt that." Arthur sighed, kneading his eyes with his knuckles.

"Well, list some. I'll list more and you can tell me if you've heard of 'em, alright?" He grinned enthusiastically, "Let's see... ever heard of Doogie Houser? or... Saved by the Bell? Boy meets World? Seinfeld? uh... Hey Arnold? Spongebob? Anything..."

Arthur didn't deign his questions with a response. He just wished he could go to bed again. He didn't want to get to know Alfred. He didn't want to be part of this program. All he wanted was something stiff to drink and a nap to work off yesterday's. It was three in the afternoon and since he didn't have a job anymore he saw no reason to be out ordering pancakes at the International House of Bad Service.

"Come on, Arthur... Let's see... I know! Friends! You had to have heard of Friends."

"Yes," Arthur muttered, hoping to get him to stop. "I've heard of Friends."

"Oh dude, that's sweet! You like it, right? It's so hilarious. Sometimes I still watch episodes when I'm bored. Personally, though, Seinfeld is soooo much better! I mean, I love Friends, don't get me wrong. But Seinfeld, amazing! Perfecto! Brilliant!" He hit the table with his fist, causing Arthur's elbow to slip off and consequently dumping half of his rotten, scalding coffee into his lap.

"Shit!" He leaped up in shock and started slapping at his trousers. "Ow, you fucking... shit!" It was like he'd lit a fire down there and Alfred gaped at him open mouthed, before understanding made his eyes grow huge

He jumped to his feet too, hopping around like Arthur who was trying to keep it from sinking past his underwear. "Oh man, crap! I'm sorry! Dude... we need ice! Ice, ice, ice..."

Alfred whirled on his heel, grabbing the first cold thing he could find. Incidentally, the toddler's glass of milk and threw it at Arthur. Missing his crotch entirely needless to say. If Arthur had been coherent and his face not covered in curdled baby milk, he would have made a joke about Alfred's sex skills and his utter lack of aim. Alfred _had been_ the one to laugh at him before back with Francis.

But he was unusually busy and soggy at the moment and when the milk hit him, he tripped and fell on top of the waitress, where they both crashed onto some chubby chap's all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet.

"Oh shit." Arthur just had time to hear Alfred say. And that's when he realized that one of her legs had got caught up under them and was hiked up somewhere near his hip. As a gay man somewhat in tune with a fashion sense or at least the sense to look good, he feels required to advise: Never go commando with a dress on, ladies. It took two nanoseconds for the entire awkwardness of the situation to register in Arthur Kirkland's mind (and quite a bit less than that for the people behind them with a five star view and a thirteen-year-old son).

His face a heady, heart-attack red, he pulled back from her faster than he thought was possible. The problem... The IHOP tables like most cheap restaurant tables had a support in the middle, a single leg in the center. He had been leaning one direction. She had been leaning the other. Basic rules of physics... could really not have prepared him for the next bout of terror.

He pushed up standing above her, but she saw that she was about to fall. Frantically, she grabbed him by his collar, and he... really not thinking at this point... really, really not thinking at this point... swung his arm forward in self-defense, _self-defense_ he says! and walloped her straight in the nose. She let go of him with a shriek and Alfred shouted, "Arthur!"

And for a second, he thought he was damn well scotch free with only a burnt dick to show for it, but then he felt his zipper tug. Oh hell. And her heel, the one that had gotten stuck on his hip, had gotten caught on his trousers, ripped the seams on his side, through his pockets, now caught near the jagged teeth of his zipper. It was stuck. Her fucking high heel was stuck in his pants!

"Argh!" he shouted as the whole table over turned and he was dragged by his crotch into a sea of whipped cream and chocolate chips. He landed on top of the waitress, naturally, and with his head on the fungus-ed toes of the bloke who'd been having breakfast. And his last thought in the horrendous stream of events was how he _hated_ people who wore sandals in public.

0 0 0

"You have to believe me!"

"You punched a woman _in public_, Arthur. And assaulted her _in public_. What else do I have to believe?"

Arthur scowled viciously at Ludwig. "Oh, so it wouldn't have been so bad if I did it in the privacy of my own home, huh?" Ludwig was unamused, so he continued stormily, determined to justify himself. "Why don't you talk to Alfred? He's the one that dumped coffee on my... me. I'm going to the doctor for that, you know. It's all his fault I haven't pissed in three da-"

"Alfred has already spoken to me," Ludwig interrupted coolly, "He says he still would like to go on being your buddy. He understands that we all have our setbacks here."

"W-what? He said that? That... jerk!" Traitor had been the first word that came to mind. If anything, weren't anger management buddies supposed to stick up for each other? Sure, he punched a woman. But he had coffee in his pants and milk in his eyes, he wasn't in full control of his actions! Alfred should have understood. He hit a cat in the head with a baseball bat for crying out loud!

Arthur left Ludwig's office sourly with a pounding headache. He was never going to get out of here. Ever. For this new offense, the court date had already been set. He was being sued this time... honestly. And he knew that _he _didn't have the money. His father would. But _he _didn't. Life was just determined to screw him over.

He was surprised to see Alfred standing out on the pavement waiting for him when he came out.

"Hey man," Alfred flashed a sheepish smile, hands in his pockets. "I told him I dumped the stuff on you, I swear. He just wanted to get you in trouble, I think. There's a lot of money in your case so far."

Arthur blinked, the rant dying on his tongue. "Ah, well, that's alright, then."

Alfred fell into step beside him, companionably. And the silence was unusual, but extremely welcome.

"I broke his foot, you know," Alfred said suddenly before they went off to separate trains.

"Ludwig's?"

"No, that guy you fell on, who had his toes in your hair. Because that is totally gross, and you should have done it yourself, really. I mean, if you're already getting accused of assault what's a couple of toes on a fat man?"

Arthur blinked, once again speechless. He wasn't sure if that sort of thing warranted a thank you. As Alfred's buddy, he should probably discourage behavior like that, but... so far neither of them were that great at following the rules per se. "We'll have to get a drink, some time," he said suddenly, with a slight smile.

"Oh yeah, totally!" Alfred beamed widely, "There's a dude that's afraid of me because I hit his wife with a go-cart, he can totally hook us up with free shots!"

Arthur laughed nervously, waving and then was extremely relieved to lose himself in a flurry of people. Just because Alfred wasn't all bad, didn't mean he wasn't all crazy.

**Thanks so much for reading! Don't forget to leave a review! And have an amazing Superbowl Sunday all you fellow Americans! (cheers for the people who didn't even know what teams were playing until today) -doze**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Chapter Numero Four for your enjoyment. **

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**WARNING: rated T for: language! language! language! And a stereotype or two. Read at your own risk.**

"Alright... keep your eyes closed... and I'm going to ask you all some questions... I want you to answer them honestly and calmly. Are we ready to begin?"

The murmured "yes" spread throughout the room before Arthur realized he was being asked a question. It was dangerous to tell him to close his eyes at any point, anywhere really. As it was, too many things were going on to focus. He was sitting under the air vent which was tropics warm. The hum of it was enough to make anyone drowsy. Alfred's loud-mouthed breathing had an uncanny rhythm to it that wasn't helping matters. The man breathed like a goddamn goldfish. And he had his cheek resting on his fist which had been and would probably always be his favorite sleeping position in class.

This time felt no different. From primary to graduate school and now back in another classroom again. His mind fluttered in and out of consciousness as Ludwig asked different people questions. Was anger harmful? Was it always bad? Who were they most angry at in the moment? What techniques had they talked about before? What was the focus for the week?

Arthur jumped a bit when Alfred nudged him in the shin. "Wha?"

"Code Blitz," Alfred hissed conspiratorially. "He's gone and put a video in. He'll see you sleeping."

Arthur blinked, frowning. He threw a slow glance at the clock. Had it really been ten minutes? Heavens, this place was like a time warp. He scrapped a hand across his face and forced himself to sit up, flinching when he accidentally caught Ludwig's icy gaze. Damn. He'd been caught again.

"Shit." Alfred breathed beside him. "I tried."

"Hell to it," Arthur grumbled, dropping his head back on the desk and trying to tune out the motivational crap on screen. The video was full of dancing blokes, holding hands. It was irredeemably gay. There was an underground 'shipping' ring going on by this time. Everyone thought Blue-Shirt and black Jackie Chan were having major UST. Arthur felt like he was in secondary again for all the immaturity that went on.

Alfred was tense beside him the whole time, nudging at his tennis shoes until he got annoyed and crushed Alfred's foot beneath his. "_Stop._"

"But Artie he-"

"_Arthur._"

"Fine, but he's going to-"

"I don't care, Alfred."

"Arthur, this isn't high school! He can get you in serious trouble. At least act like you're paying attention."

"_Fuck off, _Alfred."

"Arth-" he squeaked dropping off. "Damn it."

"Do I need to separate you two?" Ludwig asked suddenly beside them, looking the very picture of furious schoolmaster. Arthur leaned back sulkily at his angry glare.

"He's the one that won't shut up. I was listening," he growled petulantly.

"You fuck off, Arthur!" Alfred turned on him indignantly. "It was Code Blitz. You weren't taking the Code Blitz seriously. Now look!" He waved a hand at Ludwig's crinkled eyebrows. "Your fault."

"My fault! I don't know the names of all your ridiculous codes."

"Blitz like blitzkrieg, dumbass. Because he's German!"

Ludwig looked extremely un-amused.

Arthur scowled, "You don't know what happened the last five minutes either."

"Jackie punched Blue-Shit and Daisy-face cried with Puketard." Alfred stuck out his tongue. "Get it together, asshole."

"Fuck you."

"Enough," Ludwig interrupted sharply and they both fell silent. The whole classroom was watching at this point. "I won't tolerate that kind of language in this room. You seem to have both forgotten you are adults and because of that I'll treat you the way you act. Alfred, sit in the corner."

"Ahh, seriously!" Alfred kicked his desk over so that it crashed on the tile floor, centimeters from crushing Arthur's toes. "It's his fault! I'm never helping him again. God, why do I have to be his buddy? He's always getting me in trouble." He stormed to take his spot just like the kid he was described to be.

"Nose in the corner." Ludwig told him when he tried to look back to watch Arthur get his.

Arthur swallowed, wondering if it wasn't a bit cowardly to be afraid. It was one thing to drag Alfred down into the abyss. But it was another thing to be in the abyss. Whatever punishment may come, it couldn't infringe on his God-given rights. This was America.

"Arthur, go stand at the front."

"I rather think I'm fine back here. Lesson learned." he cleared his throat, running a hand under his collar uncomfortably.

"Now."

He was compelled out of his seat by Ludwig's tone and scampered up to stand in front of everyone. God, he'd never felt more like a naughty schoolboy in his life. The rest of the class watched him emotionlessly, whispers crackling amongst the ranks. And Alfred stole several conspicuous glances over his shoulder.

"Sit in the stool."

His eyes fell on the Hot Seat. And he breathed out a final curse.

He had had yet to be interrogated in front of everyone. Ludwig had been kind to him, keeping the sessions between themselves and always confidential. He could feel the sympathy radiating from the others. Even Gilbert, who'd often sat in the dreaded spot, spared him a last nod.

He sat.

Ludwig pulled a stack of papers to him and started with the first question. "Have you spoken to Francis recently?"

"No," He choked out, voice clipped. This was cruel and unusual punishment, surely. Not to mention, definitely illegal. He should sue.

"Have you thought about him recently?"

"No." Damn it. Answered too quickly.

"Not at all?" Ludwig asked suspiciously.

"Only about... about..." Fuck, he needed a good lie. A good one. "About..." he could feel his face going red under everyone's stares. They may have had sympathy, but he was beyond feeling it now. "About... how..." Oh, what was the use? He gave up. "About how I'd like to strip him down and throw him out for dead in the Arctic."

Alfred snickered, and he promptly flipped him off.

"Don't laugh at my problems, prick!"

"Alfred, go wait in the hall." Ludwig said shortly, not even looking up from his notes. "Would anyone else like to join him?"

The room was silent, except for Alfred who made godawful noises with his tennis shoes as he dragged himself out.

"What does your father think of Francis?"

Arthur swallowed, slightly bewildered. He'd made a point of not mentioning his father in their sessions. "He likes him."

"Why? Expand."

"He..." Arthur coughed, "Well, Francis is from a good family went to... a good university. Has a really good job. Sleeps around, but he doesn't know that. He's successful, overall." His foot started to beat out an unnerving rhythm against the dirty tile, jolting his knee up and down.

"And what does he think of you?"

"I'm sorry, sir." Arthur cleared his throat, foot tapping faster. "I'm just a bit foggy on what this has to do with anything. My issue is with Francis."

"What does your father think of you?"

Arthur scowled. "Nothing."

"Nothing? He thinks nothing of you?"

"That's certainly one way to put it," he spat, fed up, "I wasn't answering your question, but if you want to go on and twist the knife a bit, be my guest!"

"You seem angry," Ludwig observed like a drill sergeant.

"I'm not. Only... only irritated." He crossed his arms, pounding his heel on the floor. "You're being intrusive."

"I'm being a therapist."

"Therapists are intrusive."

"So be it." Ludwig made a mark on his notepad that made Arthur want to rip it from his hands. What was he writing? What was he thinking? Honestly. He forced himself to breathe out. Honestly. "How long have you and Francis known each other?"

"Since third year," Arthur scratched the back of his neck anxiously. "He went to a school in Manchester with me."

"In England?"  
"No, on the moon." Arthur noticed that Alfred was trying to watch from the small window posted on the door.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop circumventing, Arthur."

He grunted noncommittally. Alfred caught his eye and waved cheerfully. What an idiot.

"Who were your friends?"

He gritted his teeth. "I wasn't one for other people."

"You can't think of one?"

"No."

"Was Francis?"

"God. No."

"Did they ever pick on you?"

"Who's they?"

"Kids at your school."

He swallowed, shrugging tersely. "By the by. I wouldn't play with them in primary. I wasn't interesting. There wasn't much else I was useful for."

"What did you do instead for recess or free time or whatever?"

"Read, write..." he laughed sharply, "hide."

"Did you ever date?"

"I think you know the answer to that." Alfred was now pressing his ear against the window. Arthur managed to stop tapping his foot and nearly snorted. What an idiot.

"I meant at school."

"In primary?" Arthur squinted at him in disbelief. "I kissed a girl once."

Gilbert gave him a thumbs up from the back and heat crawled up his neck.

"What was it like?"

"She screamed."

"Did you like it?"

He scrunched his nose up. "I don't remember. I was eight. Her father knew my father. Francis and the other boys told us we'd be married. I thought I should very well get used to kissing her if I would have to do it later."

"Why did she scream?"

"Good question. Why don't you ask her?"

"Mr. Kirkland."

"I don't know. I told her my intentions. I wore my best shirt. I even sprayed air freshener on my tongue." He scowled. "They had to take me to poison control when it turned purple three hours later."

"But?"

Arthur clenched his teeth. "But nothing. She screamed, took my Crunchie bar, and left me in the rain. But nothing."

"You were eight?"

"I said that, didn't I?"

"Alright," Ludwig nodded in a way that made relief seep all the way down to his bloodless limbs. "Send Alfred in."

Arthur stood and got him, just glad to be out of the center of attention.

"Alfred sit."

Alfred took his spot in the chair, whistling. For the few weeks Arthur had been there, he'd never seen Alfred in that spot. He didn't seem nervous at all.

"How is Mrs. Jenkins, Alfred?"

"Oh alright I think," he smiled quizzically. "I haven't seen her since the black stretch limousine came by and picked up her family."

Ludwig exhaled and Gilbert once again snorted, elbowing Lovino, who shouted for him to stop being a sexual predator.

"And have you talked to Teddy?"

"Teddy who?"

"Teddy your landlord."

"Oooooh, that Teddy," Alfred laughed nervously, running his fingers through his hair. "Funny story, Luddi, I just saw him the other day. Really funny story. It's just... You're gunna laugh so hard. Really funny. Just really funn-"

"Get on with it, Mr. Jones."

"Alright, I'm sorry!" He burst out desperately, jumping to his feet. "I swear I didn't see her! I swear it!"

"What happened?"

"Well..." Alfred swallowed, eyes falling on Arthur. "It was after we had dinner on Tuesday for that weekly meeting thing, you know?"

"I know."

"And Artie had just left-"

"_Arthur." _

"Right. Well, Artie had just left and Teddy came out to lock up the shed by the street side. And I told him I had that month's rent, you know?"

"I know."

"So I was all in his office. And I was all, 'Here it is', you know?"

"I know."

"And he was like, 'Where's the rest?' And I was like, 'What'. And he was like, 'You're short four hundred. And I was all, 'Nuh-huh.' And he was all, 'I'll call the cops on you again, Jones. If you don't get your act together, you know?"

Ludwig didn't even glance up. "I know."

"So I was totally not even sure what was happening. Until I remembered I went to church that Sunday and invested money in that yellow basket that they haven't paid back yet. So I was like, 'Facepalm, sorry Ted-o you're right. I'll have it all for you later.' But he was like, 'No, Jones. You have a week or you're evicted.' But that's totally not cool, because I paid him last week too for last month. And that was this month's and this month isn't even over so I should have more time. But. Anyway."

Alfred took a huge breath. "I was gunna pay him and I told him 'Man, I'm gunna pay you.' And he was like 'You better' So I was gunna leave even though I was kinda mad at his attitude and how he was acting like I wasn't even human, you know?

"I know."

"But. Anyway. I was leaving and then this little girl comes in and she was adorable and smiley and everything. And she was like, 'Daddy!' And I was like, 'She's adorable!' And he was like, 'Leave.' And I was like 'Why?' And he was like, 'Leave now.' And I was like 'Not cool'. But she didn't even respect his authority because I offered her some candy to see what would happen-"

"You bloody did what?" Arthur interrupted. The ghastly story-telling had been putting him to sleep but this was too far. "Why would you do that you, daft idiot?"

"Daft idiot is redundant, Arthur." Alfred replied calmly. "They mean the same thing."

"Arthur, be quiet or I'm going to send you into the hall." Ludwig gave him the disapproving eyebrow raise, and he grumbled himself into silence.

"So, like I was saying. I offered her some candy and she was all, 'Yes, please.' And Teddy was all, 'I'm going to shoot you with this gun' Which he magically produced and I was like 'Pssh. No way you have that good've aim' But then he started to pull the trigger. And I was all, 'Hell, this bullshit's serious.'"

"Language, Alfred."

"Sorry. Censored version: And I was all, 'Heckie, this pony spit is serious.' He yelled, 'Fudge you.' And I got all mad because no one talks to me that way except my Dad and so I said... err... 'Fudge you and your grandma and your great grandma who's the biggest... uh... shitake mushrooming mother trucker on the face of this jumpin' Jehosephat planet. I don't give a Donald Duck' And he yelled and came flying forward like a... a dadgummit man part to a woman part. And then I swear as heckie I didn't see his girl standing there, but I tripped and I was like, 'Poop!' Cuz I'm a lot bigger than she was and... yeah." He stopped suddenly, looking ashamed. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Well, what happened?" Arthur demanded because Ludwig was obviously not on top of this.

"She..." Alfred met his gaze sheepishly. "Hospital. ER. Broke her arm and a couple o' ribs."

"God, you are just-"

"Thank you, Mr. Kirkland." Ludwig cut in. "You may sit down, Alfred."

The rest was composed of everyone's goals for the weeks, which was somewhat of a joke until Ludwig managed to wrestle a real goal from their bullshitting.

"Not to fall on anyone," Alfred laughed guiltily at his turn. Which Ludwig wrote on the board as 'Be More Conscientious of Others.'

"And you, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur sighed and said what he'd said every day since the beginning. "Get out of here."

Which Ludwig wrote this time: "Feel Confident Enough to Be Honest."

He scowled, but figured that was Ludwig's way of saying. "Only way to get out of here."

Afterwards, Ludwig wanted to speak to the two of them. And Arthur wondered, as he watched everyone file out, if they hadn't already been punished enough.

"I have a plan for this next week," began Ludwig, "And you should too. That is the key to creating a successful week. Just letting things happen is dangerous. As we have seen by your story, Alfred."

Arthur snorted, "If you're worried about me testing other people's children and then sitting on them with my fat ass, I would worry no longer-"

"This goes for you too, Arthur." Ludwig's eyes suddenly gleamed with uncanny knowledge. "I know you don't have much of a plan either. It's easy to sneak in an extra glass when you're not keeping count, isn't it?"

Arthur's mouth slipped open in surprise, but Ludwig continued unperturbed, "At next week's session, I want to hear that you two met up with each other every day. I'm putting you on the accountability emergency plan."

"What's that?" Alfred asked, oblivious to the fact that his freedom was slowly being taken away. Arthur swallowed. The leash was being tightened.

"Whenever either of you has an incident- (Arthur rolled his eyes. Incident, indeed) -I want you to call one another. Accountability is something that neither of you seem to have towards anybody. I think it would do you both a lot of good to have someone on the other end..." Ludwig trailed for a moment to smile, which looked really bizarre on his lips. "I should hope it would limit your chit-chat during sessions as well. Meet once everyday. If only for an hour. And whenever you feel angry or scared or anything you can't handle, _call each other._ That's an order."

"Alright," Alfred agreed easily. But Arthur scowled.

"I thought you didn't want to be my buddy. I'm always getting you into trouble, remember?"

"Ah, that was for show." Alfred smiled agreeably. "We're not supposed to like each other in front of Luddi. You said it yourself."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ludwig's still here. Why would you say that here?"

"Why would you ask here?"

"Why would you answer here?"

"Why wouldn't I answer here?"

"You are insufferable." Arthur threw up his arms and stood. "I'm leaving. And I'll have you know," he turned on Ludwig. "I don't count my glasses. I count my bottles!"

"Because Arthur's a boss!" Alfred shouted triumphantly. And Arthur allowed him that one.

**And now... our buddies are getting closer. Hahaha. All of your reviews totally make this story happen. If you thought the chapter was too long or too whatever or too something or whatever, please feel free to let me know in the comments! Cheers, doze**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! Here's chapter five!**

**One billion million jillion times thanks to these people: Lintunia, Canadian Hero, Sora Resi, Emma-sempai, Cheary, aphrodite931**(btdubs all your guesses make me grin), **Marichinocherry, BlacktwinWhitetwin, Ghosty Starr, igirisexual, Sweetstar25, and Musical Dragon.**

**Leave a review if you have the chance, and uh, about this chapter... well, it's different. But you'll see.**

**WARNING: Rated T for language, sexual references, and that's about all.**

Arthur scratched the back of his neck in confusion, squinting at the ripped sheet of notebook paper in his hand. He looked up. Then down. Then up. Then down. Then up. The glitzy sign of the store right in front of him was blacked and the windows were dark except for an emergency light in the back. Illuminating shelves and crooked stacks of old books.

Well.

He had thought it was a bit weird that they'd wanted to interview him so long after closing time.

Groaning dismally, he jerked his tie loose, cursing incompetent workers who set interview times and then forgot about them. This was the premier used book shop of NYC. You'd think they'd be a bit more on top of it. They guarded their openings like a million pounds. He'd blown off a sure scotch with Alfred just to come here. Fuck a duck.

He turned away irritably, un-tucking his shirt as he walked. God, these shoes were hurting his feet, and he _detested _hair gel because it was impossible to go without using the whole bottle. Inevitably, it started wearing off and looking like he'd smeared bacon grease across his head. His stomach was growling pitiably, because up until a few hours ago, he'd had plans to go to his favorite pub and make Alfred pay. But he'd gotten the call back, and what was Arthur Kirkland if not a man of duty?

Patting his trousers down, he found his pack of Marlboros and stuck one in his mouth, lighting the cancer stick all in one motion. His eyes watered from the burn of the smoke, and he had the sense to feel guilty; he was supposed to have kicked the habit. Mum had had a near fit of hysteria when he'd visited their Manhattan flat not that long ago in his wrinkled work polo and cigarette to boot. He swallowed, coughing. Francis _had _warned him. Nonetheless, if used book shops (not even those) and petrol stations were all he amounted to, what the hell were a couple of damn cigs gunna do? If anything, they helped him play the part.

Arthur wasn't looking where he was going, steaming over his cigarette, when he collided roughly with a man loitering boorishly in the middle of the pavement. "Watch where you're going, fuckjob." he snarled uncharacteristically, but the prospects of both a job and a free meal at Alfred's expense had vanished.

"Are you Mr. Kirkland?" the guy inquired pleasantly, completely disregarding Arthur's more-than-coarse attitude. He had his hands balled in his pockets and was wiggling his fingers around remarkably near his crotch, looking all together too smiley and perverted to actually own a residence.

"Who wants to know?" He asked bluntly, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"You applied for a job?"

"Oh."

Fuck.

"I... I'm so sorry," He apologized dumbfounded. What sort of premier book shop hired wankers like this? His green eyes trailed downwards, giving the skin-tight leather pants a lingering once-over. And those were platform shoes. Bloody hell. He cleared his throat, waving his cigarette about uncomfortably. "I thought since the shop was closed, maybe you'd... err... forgotten."

"Oh, the shop's not closed, silly," The man smiled tilting his head to the side, longish blonde locks dancing about his face. Arthur breathed out a bit uncertainly. "Just come on around the back."

He hummed as he turned around, gesturing Arthur towards one of the alleys.

_So you can fuck me and steal my wallet, probably. _Arthur bit his lip, sizing him up.

He was only a small bit taller, and in those shoes he would have to be really talented. Factor in the time it took to get his pants off. Without thinking, Arthur looked down at himself in his pinching shoes from secondary and absently counted the holes in his belt before the latch. Adding the time it took to undo them, it would take precisely thirteen sec- Wait, there were three this time. He counted again, brow furrowing. Weren't there usually two holes from the latch? What had he been eating this week? Bar Monday. Bar Tuesday. Alfred had left a whole pie at his place on Wednesday. That was gone by Thursday. You know... better safe than sorry.

"Eh, hold up. I... I just need to give someone a ring." He fumbled in his pocket for his mobile while the man waited perfectly nonchalantly against a building.

His heart thumped unusually painfully as he waited. Ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

"_Heyo! It's Alfredo!"_

Arthur had to suppress the urge to groan and sigh at the same time, relaxing. "You are the biggest idi-"

"_Just kidding! This is a telepathic thought recording device! After the tone, think about your name, reason for calling, and a number where I can reach you. And I'll __**think **__about returning your call! Alfie out!"_

"Fuck you, dipshit." He spat as soon as the beep, feeling his heart drop. "It's me. I just was ringing to..." he trailed. God. He was ringing to? To what? "Well, I'm... err.. on Tenth Avenue in Chelsea just between West 21st and West 22nd, I think, around there. I went to my interview like- like I said. But," he cleared his throat. "It's gotten a bit dark. If you had a free moment, you could, maybe, come down. I think there's a pub down the way. If you get this after I'm done we could go... If not... that's alright. Forget it."

He hung up in defeat. That was certainly cryptic enough. The man was standing right there, and Alfred would never guess his real meaning. He needed this job interview, but if there was a chance that it wasn't a job interview, was it still worth it? The only person he'd been able to think of who could put this gentleman out without breaking a sweat was Alfred. He didn't have much to choose from anyway. Ten contacts at best. Four at worst. He hadn't gotten pissed enough to delete Alfred's number yet, so that was the full length of his reasoning.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

"Ah, yes. Coming." He smiled halfheartedly; his dress shirt was sticking to his skin.

They walked down a long alley, footsteps echoing off the old brick walls, skirting trash and dumpsters. The only sound was his stomach growling and he effectively muffled that by crossing his arms across his middle. God, he wished he'd never applied.

"So... How long have you been working at the book shop?" He coughed, unable to handle the silence anymore.

"Not for very long. I got transferred into their side store after awhile. It's a new project. Kind of grafted on."

"Ah," Arthur swallowed, watching the other man's shoes, clopping along like Clydesdales. "Specialty books then?"

"Yes," The man flashed a smile over his shoulder. "And exactly the sort you're thinking of."

Arthur stopped walking abruptly, face burning red. "Oh fu- W-well, I applied to the regular shop. I-I'm certainly not interested in-"

"But we've heard about you, Mr. Kirkland!" The blonde man whirled around, beaming. "You simply must come. You're a BDSM expert!"

"I-I'm a what?" he sputtered, running a hand through his hair so that it all stuck out to the left. This was happening way too often lately. Just the other day, he'd been at the grocery shop and a man had told him he wasn't allowed to buy bananas. Alfred had joked that he wouldn't be allowed into Florida any more either. Or at least, Arthur thought he was joking. "How do you people know about me? I swear I've never in my life-"

"But Mr. Kirkland! My employer thinks what you did to Francis was absolutely marvelous!"

"I didn't do anything to Francis! Just dented his nose a bit! Hell, I'm leaving." He turned away sharply, fingering anxiously with his jacket sleeves.

"But you need the job?"

"Not." Arthur raised a finger up to stop him. "From you."

"News spreads fast in NYC, Mr. K. Give it a thought. The pay's good."

He stopped at the end of the alleyway. "That's shit."

"All you'd have to do is sell them."

"Why would I be any better at selling them than some other pervert?"

"Well, obviously you know all of the positions."

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, reddening. "Err. Obviously."

"And you'll attract attention. That's all we want."

Arthur sighed. "I still don't understand. How did you hear about me? I was convicted for assault, thank you very much, not sexual harassment. And I should wonder how many people are purposefully ignorant of the fact."

"Quite a many. But that's to our advantage. I'm assuming you've seen the documentary." He tilted back and forth on the balls of his feet, smirking.

"No, I haven't." Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's about the making of a sexual offender. They used you as a prime example."

Arthur paled. "Are they allowed to do that? It's private information. My father-"

"Doesn't know. At least probably not. You're an adult now, Arthur. You make your own choices. No need to go running back every time you do something... risqué."

"I haven't fucking done anything!" He wrung his hands together uncomfortably, foot smacking the concrete. "If you're going to accuse me of something like that, at least let me have the fun of it first. This is the worst violation of privacy, and I'll have you know that back in Britain no one would stand for this!" He crossed his arms furiously, trying to stop trembling, "The United States has the most fucked up system I've ever had the supreme misfortune to land myself in! I don't even know you! Get away from me! You show up dressed like a fucking harlot and I'm just supposed to walk down an alley at ten thirty with you? Well shit! That's what I say! Shit to you and shit to your-"

"Artie!"

Arthur flinched away from the man, shaking, and it took him a moment to realize that the shout had come from behind him. He breathed out, eyes trailing down to his quivering fists.

"Artie, there you are! I was looking for you!" Alfred came bounding down the alley, beaming. "I got your call and drove over here in my ice cream truck!"

Arthur felt there was a good chance that if he said anything he would bite his tongue off, so he kept silent as Alfred came up beside him. Alfred noticed Arthur's face, and his expression fell.

"What's wrong? Are you alright? You need some more cigs?" He waved at Arthur's finished one, insistently. "I got some. Are you hungry? I know a place to eat. I got my van around the corner. You look sick. Are you sick?" Arthur finally managed to shake his head, stopping Alfred's stream of questions and solutions.

"Is this guy bugging you?"

Arthur swallowed as Alfred's innocent blue eyes grew hard. Alfred didn't wait for him to answer. "Hey, you! You better be careful." He clapped Arthur on the back, roughly. His hand was big and heavy, and Arthur couldn't help but marvel at Alfred's strength. He had a rugby player's build. "Artie could take you out in five seconds! He's a total badass, fucker! I wouldn't even touch him!"

Arthur balked, shooting a confused glance upwards. He felt Alfred's hard arm brush against his as he marched past.

"You don't even know anything, do ya?" Alfred shoved a finger in the other man's face. "I oughta rip your tongue out for talking to him like that. He's so patient; he was probably giving you a chance. But you look like a prostitute and I'll beat the shit out of you without even blinking, dumbass. So split!"

"Alfred..." The other man started to pout. "You don't remember me?"

"Remember you?" Alfred frowned, derailed. "You look like a striptease. Why would I remember you?"

"You remember." He leaned forward to whisper something, that made Alfred- Alfred of all people -go red.

"O-oh, yeah. Sorry man. I just thought- Well, I didn't mean- Ah geez. Never mind. I'll leave you dudes alone. I can come back." He started to walk away, but Arthur felt a jolt of something (most definitely not panic) run through him and he reached out to catch Alfred's arm.

"W-wait. I was leaving too. We can go together." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Alfred frowned in confusion. "But Artie, don't you need this job?"

"I... I can apply somewhere else. I've changed my mind. I don't want to work here. We can leave now." He started to walk away, finding that he was willing to brave Alfred's iffy driving skills under the circumstances.

"Hold up." Alfred reached out and caught him by his sleeve, making his stomach sink. "I didn't mean to interrupt like that. You need this job. I just thought he was... you know..." Alfred blushed uncomfortably as Arthur gawked. "Coming onto you or something."

"No! Stop being perverted, idiot! Just... I was..." Arthur's voice caught in his throat because he had initially been worried about that as well. Now, he was beyond tired and he couldn't imagine working at a bookshop where he'd already had such an awkward encounter with a fellow employee. "I just want to go back to my flat. Can you give me a ride?"

He watched Alfred hesitate, wondering if he was imagining it when Alfred and the shop man exchanged a look.

"You sure?" Alfred asked and he actually sounded concerned. "I mean, you look tired, but don't you need this?"

"No, I've applied to other places. Please, Alfred, I can handle myself. I just need a ride."

"Alright, you can count on me," Alfred beamed suddenly. "Come on. I have to show you my truck!"

Arthur nodded in relief, fishing out another cigarette. Really, the last place he needed to be working was at a sex book shop or whatever it was they sold in there. He wrinkled his nose, and gladly stepped out of the alley. A blast of wind washed the heat away and he breathed in a mouthful of smoke gratefully.

Alfred babbled on beside him which served, strangely enough, to ease the rest of the tension out of his shoulders. At this point, and he hated to admit it, this was becoming normal. Alfred had been over nearly every day of the week, out of necessity because of their new accountability punishment. But, he'd resolved to not ring Alfred ever, so help him God, because he was not a damsel in distress that couldn't control his own anger (because he had none) and Alfred most definitely had nothing to offer him except the occasional free drink and accompanying burger. Tonight had ended that streak, but for good reason. He could now claim his free meal.

Alfred stopped him at the truck which was very much an American ice cream truck, bells and whistles and the whole shebang. The paint color was nauseating enough to blind anyone older than five.

"What do you think?" he asked excitably to which Arthur grunted, unimpressed. But it was certainly more than he could claim. He didn't have a job.

"Did you want to go to Jerry's?" Alfred said as they got in and he nodded, cracking the window to smoke."Hey, I'm really sorry I didn't pick up the phone right away. I was out with Gilbert so I didn't hear it."

Arthur frowned, disconcerted. "You were out with Gilbert?"

"Yeah, we're bros!" Alfred grinned goofily. "We were playing Texas ping pong at his place. You should see the zingers I gave him!"

Arthur frowned, fiddling with his jacket sleeves. "You have friends?"

"Uh," Alfred stared at him dubiously. "Yeah. Everybody has friends."

Arthur made a show of rolling his eyes, but his fingers clutched a bit at the seams of his trousers. "You just didn't seem the type."

Alfred blinked, eyes on the road. "What does that mean?" He asked in innocent confustion.

Arthur's lip curled back. "Are you sure he's your friend? You're such an idiot sometimes. I can't be sure."

"Geez..." Alfred bit the inside of his cheek and shot Arthur a meaningful glance. "You don't have to be mean."

"I wasn't being mean. I'm being realistic. No one's ever going to want to be friends with you. They'd never want to risk their neck enough for it." He snorted, exhaling a heavy cloud so that it made his eyes water, and crossed his arms irritably. Gilbert was more of an idiot than he'd originally took him for. What a tool. Arthur would eagerly await the day he got kicked in the balls.

"Then why isn't anyone friends with you?" Alfred growled abruptly, his tone going nastier than Arthur had thought possible from him. "Cuz you're a turd?"

"I-I have friends, thank you very much!" He nearly swallowed his cigarette out of shock, and he had trouble removing it from his mouth because his fingers were shaking. Alfred had never said anything like that to him before.

"Oh yeah?" Alfred sneered, "Where are they? Invisible land?"

Arthur sputtered, unable to think of anything to say. "Y-you're being mean."

"No," Alfred leveled him a sharp glare that took his breath away. "I'm being realistic."

Arthur swallowed heavily, his lips slightly parted and eyes wide.

"Doesn't feel so hot when someone throws it right back, does it?" Alfred muttered, jacking up the radio promptly. "I'm not an idiot, Arthur. I'm really not."

He wasn't. Arthur's ears burned as he wrung his hands in his lap. He was mean, though. Alfred stopped the car on his street and Arthur supposed the pub was out, even though all he could really use right now was something stiff to drink. He got out, but not before Alfred gave him one last look and said, "Let's skip the meet-up tomorrow, kay? I got plans. We already signed the papers. It's like you wanted."

Arthur barely had the chance to nod, before Alfred was driving off to that obnoxious ice cream tune that was so common on dumb American streets. He stood for a minute, staring at his feet.

Well, he still didn't have a job. And there was no Francis to yell at him for walking through the door which meant there would also be no cold dinner to heat up in the microwave. Which meant there would be no groceries because there would be no reminders to get them for Francis to cook for dinner that night. Which meant by virtue there would be no toothpaste and his clothes would still be dirty and on the floor. Which meant he would be hungry and thirsty, damn it, because his scotch would be gone.

Which meant the bed would be too big and he wouldn't be able to sleep.

Which meant he would have to think about what happened today because his stomach was growling and because Alfred was a piece of shit and hadn't bought him dinner like the plan was. Which meant he would have to get up and either make himself something with moldy lettuce and tortillas or die or quite possibly both as he had the cooking capacity of a three year old. Which meant he would smoke. Which meant his throat would hurt. Which meant his mum would catch him when she surprise visited because Francis wasn't there to remind him to stop. Which meant she would ask him suspiciously about his job. Which meant he would think about tonight. Which meant... which meant... which meant...

Arthur pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His cheeks were hot and soon they were wet. But he was frustrated, just frustrated, only frustrated. Which meant there was no scotch, damn it.


End file.
